My son is a year old today.
Does that mean I am no longer a “new” parent? Am I a seasoned veteran now that I’ve made it a year with no SIDS? (Yay for me!) Yesterday at my sister’s house, Nathan interrupted a string of gah-gah-gahs with a very clear and enunciated, “FUH-KAH!” Everyone turned to me as if this outburst was evidence that I had traded his Baby Einstein CD’s with the last few albums put out by Bone-Thugs-N-Harmony.
The potty mouth? Totally new to me. I mean, we only watch Sopranos sometimes okay? And Cheaters comes on once a week, so I have no idea where that came from.
If someone had told me two years ago, “Mona, don’t spend $171 on MAC makeup because you’ll need that money for your unborn child,” I would have said, “You shut your mouth with that baby talk. They’re offering FREE SHIPPING!”
And if that same hypothetical voice of reason had spoken to me last year when I was fretting that since Nathan lost weight in the hospital he would never be any heavier than 8 lbs 4.8 oz, it would say, “Giiirl, you don’t know from heavy.” I’m hoping that the voice of reason belongs to a gay man with impeccable taste, who will also punctuate juicy gossip tales with, “Naw-what-I’m-sayin!” Thanks hypothetical voice of reason. With a son whose belly arrives five minutes before he does, I definitely naw what you’re saying.
Tonight I did not bake a cake. Instead, Mike and I let the folks at Rainforest Cafe concoct Nathan a celebratory dessert called a “Volcano,” complete with sparkler and accompanying “Happy Happy Birthday,” ditty.
I’m not sure if Nathan was more confused by the fanfare or the fact that we were letting him go to town on ice cream and cake without making a fuss over the food not making it into his mouth.
I understand everything and nothing about this child. I know when he rubs at his eyes, he’s tired. I know that when he starts babbling, he’s hungry. But when I crawl quickly toward him and taunt, “I’m going to get you!” and he screams and waddles towards my direction, well, you got me there.
And years before this, when I was in a hopeless relationship and living on inflatable furniture, if someone had told me then that every choice and small suffering would eventually lead to a husband, a house, and a happy little boy named Nathan, I might have answered, I hope you’re right.